


Upheaval

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Related: Remembrance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happened to Grace Ellison?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upheaval

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of clarification is needed concerning a certain forensic test mentioned herein: while the procedure is relatively new, it is not as recent as the story would have you believe. Also, the reasons and circumstances behind the development of this procedure are not the ones stated here. Those were dredged from the depths of my chocolate-deprived mind. Constructive criticism--both pro and con--will be greatly and gratefully appreciated. Flames will be kept for later; it gets cold here in the winter!

## Upheaval

by PJ

Author's disclaimer: We all know that Pet Fly, Paramount, and the Sci Fi Channel legally own the boys. But, I can dream, can't I?

* * *

UPHEAVAL 

The continuous drizzle, combined with the hazy light of early morning, lent a surreal atmosphere to the scene of destruction. Stray wisps of gray smoke both highlighted, and obscured, the charred, twisted remnants of the building. Black scorch marks streaked across the buckled metal sides. Figures in bright orange protective gear darted back and forth between the warehouse and the legion of fire department vehicles parked on the tarmac in front. In the background was the constant roar of planes departing and arriving at the nearby airport. Suddenly, an urgent cry came from inside the burned building, causing heads to turn. 

"Hey, Chief, Captain!" The voice belonged to a young firefighter who skidded into view. Helmet pushed back on his head, his sooty face mirrored the tension in his voice. "Come on in here. I think you need to see this." 

Sharing a puzzled glance, the two senior fire officials crossed the pavement and entered what was left of the old warehouse. Following the babble of excited voices, the duo soon found a knot of men clustered around something against a far wall. One of the men, seeing his superiors coming, waved them over. 

The firefighter explained, "Since this part of the building didn't burn completely, we thought we check for hot spots and smolders. As you can tell," he went on as the chief and captain joined the rest of the group, "there's nothing here but hundreds of pieces of old luggage and trunks. We were pulling them away from the walls to get a better look, when we accidentally knocked this trunk over. The lock was so old, it just broke into pieces and... Well, see for yourselves." 

At his words, the pack of firefighters parted, letting the two older men see the reason for all the excitement. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," whispered Captain Lowell, shocked. He continued to stare, wide-eyed at what had spilled from the trunk onto the dirty concrete floor. 

"I couldn't agree more," Chief Patterson said heavily. Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand over his face; then, jerking his head toward the door of the building, he ordered, "One of you guys had better go call the cops. This is their party now." Absently noting one of the men leaving hurriedly, his gaze remained fixed on the fragile-looking skeleton sprawled half in, half out of the dilapidated trunk. 

* * *

"Come on, Chief; we're gonna be late," called Jim Ellison. He reached out, grabbing both his and Sandburg's coats. Turning as he heard the pounding of footsteps, he watched Blair bound down the steps from the loft bedroom two at a time as he fastened his curls back with a leather tie. Shaking his head, the older man just held out a coat as his lover slid to a stop beside him. 

"Timing it kind of fine there, weren't you, Chief?" he commented, ushering his partner out, then locking the door behind them. 

"Not my fault, man," insisted Sandburg, buttoning his coat. "Somebody--who shall remain nameless--didn't do the laundry like he said he would, and I had to scrounge for a clean shirt." Reaching the stairs, he once more took them two at a time. 

Following rather more sedately, Ellison gave a slight frown as they exited the building. "Did you ever stop to think, Sandburg, that maybe that isn't such a smart thing to do?" 

"Huh?" Baffled, Sandburg glanced up at the taller man. Stopping beside the old blue and white Ford truck, he continued, "What? Looking for a clean shirt? Somehow, Jim, I don't believe Simon would be at all happy if his detectives showed up wearing yesterday's clothes." 

"Don't be ridiculous," retorted Ellison sliding into the driver's seat and leaning over to unlock the passenger door. "I meant, Shecky, that perhaps you might try going down a set of stairs the way normal people do...one at a time." He started the engine as Blair finished clicking his seatbelt closed. 

"Ah, c'mon, Jim," protested Blair cheerfully, "being 'normal' is boring." 

"Being normal," shot back Ellison tightly, "just might prevent any further instances of loss of balance and you taking a header down the stairs." Eyes firmly fixed on the street ahead of him, he took a corner sharply. 

Abruptly clued in to what was bothering Jim, Sandburg gave an internal sigh. Though it had been almost five months, apparently his partner was still not over the shock of arriving home, only to find Blair lying crumpled at the foot of the stairs leading to the outside door. For his part, Blair had no memory, nor explanation, of how the accident had occurred, thanks to the rather nasty concussion he had sustained. The head injury, along with the three broken ribs he had also acquired in the fall, had delayed his entrance into the police academy for over a month while everything healed. 

"Jim," sighed Blair. He reached over and laid a hand on a tense thigh. "We don't know if that's what happened, man. I could've just as easily slipped on a loose piece of carpeting or something." 

"I know that, Sandburg!" argued Ellison, turning into the police garage. Pulling into a slot and turning off the truck, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Unbidden, the image flashed across his mind once more: Blair, on the ground, pale and unmoving, a pool of blood surrounding his head and soaking his long curls. Eyes snapping open once more, he looked across the truck seat to find Blair watching him worriedly. 

Leaning over, he patted his lover's hand and smiled wryly. "Sorry, Chief; didn't mean to yell." Ellison shrugged, getting out of the truck. "Great way to start work after four days off, isn't it." He waited until Sandburg joined him before heading for the elevator. 

"The only thing wrong with this morning is we have to go back to work," replied Blair, casually brushing against the larger man as the elevator carried them upward. "I could've sworn those four days were four hours, instead." 

"Well, I, for one, could use the break of work," teased the big cop as they exited and headed for Major Crimes. At his partner's incredulous look, he went on, "You've completely worn this old man out, Chief. I need the rest." 

Opening his mouth to express his opinion on that matter, Sandburg had to hastily swallow his riposte as Megan Connor suddenly popped up at their side. 

"Well, look at who finally remembered where they worked!" Connor's brown eyes sparkled as she looked the two men up and down. "Mates, you look more shagged out than when you left Friday evening." 

"Up yours, Connor," shot back Ellison pleasantly. Blair just beamed at her. 

"You two do know that the work week commonly starts on Monday, right?" ribbed the Australian. "You overshot it by two days--it's Wednesday." 

"I need some coffee," Jim announced suddenly. "See you in a few, Chief." He gave Megan a patently false smile and headed off for the break room. 

Shaking his head after him, Sandburg turned to the laughing Connor and asked, "Anything big happen while we were out camping?" 

"Not really. Brown and Rafe were handed a doozy of a case on Saturday, but other than that, it's all been routine." The tall brunette gave a grimace. "Me, I get to spend the rest of the week in Denver, espousing the joys of work exchanges. I'm bloody thrilled." 

"Better you than me," chuckled Sandburg. "Have fun." Ignoring the rude noise she made at his departing back, the young detective went in search of caffeine and his partner. 

* * *

Rafe hung up the phone. Sighing, he looked over at his partner. "Nothing. I don't think we're going to be able to crack this one this way." He looked and sounded discouraged. 

"Yeah," agreed Brown wearily. He picked up the diamond and emerald studded bracelet again, and swung it back and forth between his fingers. "Damn it," he exploded abruptly, "this stuff is obviously antique and expensive. There must've been insurance on it. Somebody should have some sort of records!" 

"Where did you get that!?" 

The voice was so strained and hoarse, it took both Rafe and Brown several seconds to place it. Looking up, they were astounded to see Ellison standing there, staring at the jewelry scattered across Brown's desk. 

At the big cop's side, Sandburg was frowning at his partner's ashen face. "Jim? What is it?" 

Belatedly remembering Ellison and Sandburg had been gone for several days, Henri answered bemusedly, "There was a fire at an old storage warehouse at the airport on Saturday. The firefighters accidentally knocked over an old trunk and found a skeleton inside. The stuff--earrings, bracelet, necklace and ring--was on the body. We're trying to trace the jewelry in hopes of getting an ID. There was nothing in the trunk." 

Exchanging a puzzled look with Sandburg, Rafe continued, "The lab was able to pull out some initials inside the bracelet, but so far we've had no luck finding the owner." He looked up at the still, pale senior detective. "Have you seen these before, Jim?" 

Taking an unsteady breath, Jim reached out and took the bracelet from Brown. Hand shaking with minute tremors, he muttered, "MGW. That's the initials inside, right? MGW." He didn't look up from his perusal of the bracelet. 

"Yeah." Brown looked confused. "How did you know that?" 

Sandburg stepped closer to his partner, watching the older man through narrowed eyes. 

Ellison didn't appear to have heard his colleague's question. "The initials stand for Margaret Grace Winthrop." His whole being seemed focused on the band he was holding. 

Coming upright from his slouch, Rafe queried, "Margaret Grace Winthrop--are you sure, Jim?" At Ellison's absent-minded nod, he went on eagerly, "Do you know her, then? Know where she is?" 

"Until a few minutes ago, I hadn't known for almost thirty years where she was," answered Jim obliquely. Taking a deep breath, he abruptly tossed the bracelet onto Brown's desk. He gave a half-shrug, seemingly unable to meet anyone's eyes. "I never knew her as Margaret Grace Winthrop." 

He shrugged again, gaze remaining on the far wall of the Bullpen. In a voice that shook badly despite his desperate efforts, he announced, "I only knew her as Grace Ellison. My mother." 

* * *

"Here, Jim," murmured Sandburg, handing the shaken man a steaming mug of coffee. 

Ellison took it silently, but there was gratitude in the clear blue eyes. Smiling slightly, Blair patted his lover's shoulder before returning to his seat on the edge of the conference table in Banks' office. 

Hanging up his phone, Simon Banks swiveled in his chair to face his two detectives. "You okay, Jim?" he asked worriedly. 

"I'm fine, sir," replied Ellison, giving a wry smile. "Just...a bit of a shock, you know?" He shook his head. "All these years, I figured she had just not wanted to contact us. I never imagined she was dead." 

"Do you have any idea when it could have happened?" questioned Banks. "Or who could have done it?" 

Shrugging, Jim stared into his coffee mug. "I never saw her again after she walked out on us. Dad talked with her a couple of times on the phone, I know--I overheard one conversation the Saturday afternoon before Bud was killed. Don't know if he heard from her after that." Raising his head, he fixed a steely gaze on his friend and captain. "As to who might've done it; I have no clue. I intend to find out, though." 

Sitting to one side of his partner, Blair winced at that flat statement, but held his tongue. 

"Let's just get one thing straight here, Detective," announced Banks levelly, coming upright in his chair. Giving a basilisk stare of his own, he said, "This case was assigned to Brown and Rafe. It is still their case until I say otherwise. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, sir," muttered Ellison. 

"Damn it, Jim, you know I can't give you this case!" exploded Banks, slapping a hand down onto his desk. "Hand over a major felony case to a cop who's a son of the victim? It goes against every rule in the book and you know it!" 

Sandburg thought it prudent to enter the conversation at this point. "Sir, while Jim and I can't actively participate in the case, there isn't any regulation about us assisting the investigating officers, is there?" 

The Cascade PD captain switched his suspicious look from one partner to the other. "Just what did you have in mind, Sandburg?" he demanded. 

"Why don't Jim and I go talk to his dad? If Mr. Ellison comes up with any names, we can pass them on to H. and Rafe to check out." 

Grudgingly, Simon gave a nod. "The news might be better coming from Jim, anyway. All right, you two head over there." 

Standing behind his larger partner, Blair exchanged a long look with Banks, then gave a nod of his own. He closed the captain's door quietly behind him. "Hey, man," he said softly. "Why don't you head on down to the truck? I'll bring Brown and Rafe up to speed, and be right behind you." 

Ellison gave him a long stare through narrowed eyes then, grabbing up his jacket, he stalked out of the bullpen. Sighing, Blair watched him get on the elevator before heading over to Brown's desk. 

* * *

"I'm sorry about your mom, Jim," Blair offered suddenly into the strained atmosphere between them as the truck came to a halt at a red light. He had tried various other conversational gambits since climbing into the Ford back at the precinct, but each one had been met with stony silence and a deepening of the tension surrounding Ellison. 

"You didn't even know her, Sandburg," snapped Jim, just when the younger man was despairing of getting any sort of response from his partner. "So you can drop the concerned act right now. Hypocrisy doesn't suit you." 

Inwardly counting to ten in Hovito, Sandburg turned and stared out the passenger window. 'Some things will never change', he thought wearily. 'Something hits too close to home for Jim, and he immediately goes on the offensive.' Momentarily closing his eyes, Blair pushed aside the hurt from the snide jab before saying calmly, "No, I never knew her, Jim, but that doesn't mean I don't empathize with how you must feel. Are you going to be all right talking to your dad about this?" 

"Talking? I'm actually going to be able to talk to him first?" Sarcasm was thick in the brittle tone. 

"Huh?" 

"Don't play dumb with me, Sandburg." Ellison braked a little too abruptly for a red light at one corner of Cascade Park. "I know what you and Captain Banks were setting up back at the Bullpen. How many uniforms are waiting for us at Dad's? Are they going to arrest him, or will you? Be quite a feather in your cap, won't it--rookie detective makes arrest on twenty-seven year old murder case." 

Struck dumb, Blair could only stare at the older detective, face paling and eyes dark with stunned hurt. 

A micro-second later, Ellison's stony expression crumbled, chased away by a wave of horrified comprehension. "Oh, fucking hell!" he cursed savagely. Pulling away from the now-green light with a squeal of stressed rubber, he frantically spun the Ford's steering wheel to the right. Pulling into a parking slot in a convenient lot, he slammed the truck into park and jumped out of the vehicle. 

That broke through Sandburg's shock. "Jim! What's up? Where are you going?" He was completely at sea, struggling to keep up with his partner's mood swings. Opening his own door, Blair was about to descend when Ellison spun around. 

"Don't, Chief...please." Face ashen, jaw muscle jumping, Ellison's voice was low and raw. "Wait in the truck, okay? I'll-I'll be back, I promise. Just--wait in the truck, please?" 

Unable to deny the pleading tone or the tortured look in the cornflower blue eyes, Blair nodded reluctantly. Quietly closing the truck door, he watched his lover disappear over a small rise into Cascade Park. Giving a deep sigh, he settled back to wait, attempting to calm his own roiling emotions. 

Fifteen minutes later, just as Blair was about to abandon the truck and go looking for his partner--promise or no--he spied Ellison trudging toward him. The older man seemed calmer, though his face remained pale and set. Biting back the barrage of questions shoving at his tongue, he silently watched as Ellison climbed into the truck. Blair was considerably startled as, instead of starting the engine, Jim abruptly pulled him into a fierce embrace. 

"God, Chief, I'm sorry...so fucking sorry." The normally smooth baritone was hoarse and shaky. 

Holding on just as tightly, Sandburg hid a resigned smile as he soothed, "I know, Jim. I know." He was rocking the older man as though he were a child. 

A few moments later, Ellison pulled away from the embrace, but laid one hand along Sandburg's cheek as he looked at his lover, saying, "I-I promised myself that after Alex...after the damn dissertation...that I wouldn't do that. That I would control those damn 'fear-based responses'. A fucking lot of good my promises are." 

He pulled Blair close again, laying a tender kiss in the middle of the lambent eyes. 

"Your promises--whether to yourself, or anyone else--mean a lot." Ignoring Ellison's snort, Blair went on quietly, "Those responses were forced into you, Jim, by the way you were raised and by the Army. You've had them for years; they are what has helped you to survive up until now. A year or so isn't long enough to change decades old habits and instincts. Cut yourself a little slack here, man. I can see you're trying, and that means more to me than you will ever know." 

A look of reluctant affection coming into his eyes, Jim shook his head at his lover. "Yeah, I am trying." He gave a dry chuckle. "But in the meantime, what the hell do you get out of it, Chief?" 

"You," Blair stated simply. "Everything I'm ever gonna need." 

"Oh, baby," Jim whispered huskily. Blinking back the sudden moisture in his eyes, he again tugged the younger man close and laid a possessive, tender kiss on that tempting mouth. Pulling away with a soft sound, he murmured, "Please don't ever doubt that I love you, Blair." 

"I won't," Blair reassured softly, leaning forward slightly to place a light kiss on his lover's sensuous lips. "I love you, Jim...so much." 

Another long moment of soulful communication then, as one, they pulled back, reluctantly sliding back into their professional personas. Without a word, Jim started the Ford and pulled back into traffic. Blair, too, kept his peace, only smiling slightly as Ellison reached his hand across the bench seat and twined his fingers with Sandburg's. Holding on tightly, the younger detective sat back and watched the scenery pass by his window. 

* * *

"Jimmy! Come on in." 

For all the calmness of the greeting, there was no denying the genuine pleasure on William Ellison's face as he opened his front door to find his eldest son on the doorstep. 

Fighting his twitching nerves, Jim stepped into the foyer, followed by his partner. "Sorry to just barge in like this, Dad," he began, "but something's...happened...and I need to talk with you." 

"Sure, son." Sparing him a puzzled glance, the elder Ellison led the way into the front parlor. "You boys want some coffee or something? Sally's gone out shopping, but I know she has some freshly baked scones in the kitchen." 

"No. That's all right, Dad." Awkwardly, Jim came to a halt in the middle of the room. 

Remaining silent, Sandburg took up station behind and to one side of his partner. He was determined to keep quiet unless or until Jim indicated a need for him to intervene. The relationship between father and son had always been fraught and full of pitfalls, but the forthcoming conversation would be a serious familial minefield. Steeling himself, Blair concentrated on sending waves of reassurance and strength to his lover. 

"Can't you at least sit down?" demanded William. "Christ, it can't be that bad, can it?" The older man paled slightly. "Is it...has something happened to Steven?" 

"Steven's just fine, Dad," Jim apologized hastily, cursing under his breath at unwittingly scaring his father. "Last I heard, he was off on a business trip to Hong Kong. I haven't heard anything after that." 

"Thank god." William let out a sigh of relief. Looking curiously at his son, he asked, "Then what's the matter? I can see that Blair is all right; is something else wrong?" 

"Dad..." Huffing out a sigh of his own, Jim gave a helpless shrug. "I guess there's no easy way to say this. Some firefighters found Mom Saturday morning--she's dead, Dad." 

Paling again, William wavered slightly, then moved over to the bar. Pouring himself a good measure of brandy, he downed about of a third of it before he turned and spoke. "Dead, hm?" The retired businessman had himself under strict control. 

To the silently observing Sandburg, it was like looking at a mirror image of his lover. 

William paused to take another drink of brandy. "You mentioned firefighters. Did her house burn, or was it a car accident?" 

"Neither." Jim, too, had his stoic mask firmly in place. "Do you remember hearing about that fire at a warehouse at the airport on Saturday?" 

"Yes." William frowned at him a little. "Some storage facility, wasn't it? What does that have to do with your mother?" 

"Everything. Inside that warehouse was a bunch of old, unclaimed luggage. One of the trunks accidentally got knocked over and the lock broke. Mom was inside the trunk." The big cop's voice was cool and dispassionate, but one look at the turbulent blue eyes showed the inner agony. 

"Inside the trunk?!" William was frankly gaping now. 

"Yes, Dad--inside the trunk. She had been dead for years. All that was left was a skeleton." 

"My god." William gulped the last of his brandy then, with a shaking hand, poured himself another double. "Who... What..." Taking a deep breath, the older man tried again. "How did she die? How did she get in the trunk?" 

"I don't know." Jim turned away and began pacing back and forth in front of a sofa. "This case...it wasn't assigned to me, Dad. I'm just helping out. All I know is, a skeleton and some jewelry was found inside the trunk on Saturday. The lab was able to raise some initials off a bracelet, so Rafe and Brown were trying to trace the person's ID that way. They were making no headway until I walked in this morning and saw the stuff." 

"A bracelet, eh?" William's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "Her favorite set? The diamond and emerald grouping her father gave her?" 

"That's the one," acknowledged Jim. 

"So what do you want from me?" 

"I need--we need--to know the last time you saw her or spoke with her. Did she give any hint of being afraid for her life. That sort of thing." In a dim corner of his mind, Jim wondered how he could sound so cool and collected while his stomach and nerves were one big, twisted, twitching knot. 

Shooting his son a penetrating look, William said dryly, "Once a cop, always a cop, eh, Jimmy?" Taking another swallow of brandy, he said, "I only saw your mother twice after the night she left and told me she was filing for divorce. Once at her attorney's, where I told her and her smug-faced lawyer paramour that there was no way in Hell I was going to let her take me to the cleaners or take you and Steven away from me, and again at the divorce hearing. She wasn't best pleased when the judge turned out to be old man Henry, a conservative hard-liner who took one look at her and saw a woman who had run out on her children, already had a trust fund in the several million dollar range, and yet, still wanted more. Grace was furious when she wasn't even awarded alimony. She did call a few times, wanting to know about you boys, if she could see you, but she never set any definite visitation dates. " 

Setting his glass down on an end table, William continued, his back to the other two men. "The last time I spoke with her was on a Saturday before I took a business trip. She had said she would take you boys while I was gone so Sally could have a few days off. Typical Grace, though. She called me from the Cascade Hilton--because of her late parent's connections, she had a life-time complimentary suite of rooms there--two days before I was to leave to tell me she had changed her mind. She wanted to fly off to Paris instead. We had another argument, and I hung up on her. That was the last time I spoke with her, or heard from her. I just assumed she had written us completely out of her life." 

"This lawyer boyfriend of hers..." Jim had to forcibly unclench his jaw to ask the question. "Was he still around then? When she said she was going off to Paris?" 

"No." William still would not look at his son. "I'd heard through the grapevine that she had dumped him after he failed to fleece me in the divorce settlement. The guy she was going to meet in Paris was David Marlowe." 

"Of Marlowe and Sons, Investment Bankers?" 

"That's him. He was practically old enough to be her grandfather, but that didn't matter to Grace. Only his millions were important." 

"Are you sure that's all, Dad?" pressed Jim. "No other men? No comment, however vague, that she was worried about something?" 

"Christ, Jimmy, I don't know what else you want me to say!" William Ellison ran a hand over his face in frustration. "I've told you everything I remember, everything I know. I don't have any reason to hide anything." Suddenly, the older man fell silent, a strange look settling across his face. "You can't... You don't think..." 

'Shit!' The younger Ellison hurried into speech. "Dad, we don't think anything yet. This is just routine. C'mon, you know that." 

"Oh, my god, you do." Face pale, eyes wide with stunned disbelief, William turned to stare at his son. "You think I'm hiding something. You think I killed your mother." 

"No! I told you, this is just routine..." Jim was getting desperate to make his father understand. Beside, Sandburg stirred himself and opened his mouth to add his reassurances, but William was rushing onward. 

"I should've listened to Steven," William said in a hoarse voice. "He told me the first thing you did, after not speaking to him for fifteen years, was to accuse him of murder. Now it's my turn, is it?" 

Jim went ashen; the muscle in his lower jaw stood out in stark relief as he visibly bit back the wounded retort. 

"Jesus, Jimmy, how could you think that?!" The gray head shook in bewilderment, hurt written large in the faded blue eyes. "How the hell can you be so cold?" 

Abruptly, the big detective wheeled about. Without another word, he marched out of the room. The slam of the front door closing echoed throughout the tension-filled house. 

"You're an old fool." 

The glacial tone penetrating his bemusement, William re-focused on the other man, whose presence he had quite literally forgotten after Jim's bombshell announcement. "W-What did you say?" 

"I said, you're an old fool." Sandburg glared at the other man, eyes dark and raging. 

"Now, see here..." started Ellison, his own temper rising swiftly. 

"No." Sandburg rode roughshod over William's angry protests, his voice icy and level. "He was hurting badly, you asshole, before he even walked in here. You sure as shit didn't help matters any by climbing up onto your high-and-mighty horse, whining about him being mean to you." 

"I just don't understand how he could _think_ that of me," William defended himself. "How could he stand there so coldly and accuse me of killing someone?" 

"He doesn't think that, nor did he accuse you of anything. If you had listened to him for once in your selfish life, you would have heard him say that. Several times." 

Blair forced all pity out of himself as he stared at the elderly man standing confused and trembling by the end table. "As for how he could be so calm...look in the mirror. His entire childhood, you drummed into Jim that the softer emotions--pity, understanding, compassion, and love--were just weaknesses and something to be used against everyone around him. You beat into him that the only way to be strong, to be the best, was to turn away from all of that; to not feel." 

William found himself mute and unable to move, held by no more than the frigid contempt in those passionate teal eyes. 

Blair gave a snort of disgust and walked away. At the door to the parlor, he turned back, the sneer obvious in both face and voice. "What's the matter, Dr. Frankenstein? Aren't you proud of your creation?" 

The older man opened his mouth, but no words came out. 

* * *

It wasn't until they had arrived back at the police garage, the truck turned off, that Jim turned to his partner, a wry smile in his eyes. "I think that went well." 

Blair gave a gasp of surprised laughter. "Ya think?" Sobering suddenly, he looked hard at his lover. "You okay, man?" The underlying worry was clear. 

"Yeah, Chief, I'm fine." Ellison gave a firm thigh a reassuring squeeze. "I really didn't expect him to react any other way. In fact, he took it better than I thought." 

"If you say so." There was doubt in the husky voice. 

"I do. C'mon, partner, let's get upstairs and give Brown and Rafe the good news they're going to have to investigate and question one of Cascade's leading families." 

"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to death." Waiting until the elevator door had closed behind them, Sandburg queried cautiously, "Are you going to be all right with this, Jim? I mean, this is your mom and they're going to be asking some very intimate and personal questions here." 

"I'm not going to pretend it will be easy, but I think I can handle it, Chief," Jim answered honestly. He gave the smaller man a determined look. "I _have_ to handle it. I need to know what happened and why. That's why I need you to do me a favor." 

"Sure, man," Blair agreed readily. "What?" 

"If you see me starting to lose it, if I get out of line, I want you to call me on it." The sky blue eyes were dead serious. "This case has to be solved, Chief, and it won't happen with me losing my temper and running amuck." 

With a matching sincerity, Blair gave a slight nod. "Deal." 

The elevator gave a ding as it came to a rest, and the doors slid open. Stepping out into the usual manic swirl of police personnel, Jim suddenly asked curiously, "By the way, what was with all that head nodding and significant looks between you and Simon before we left for Dad's?" 

"Oh, he just wanted to make sure I would be watching your back," Blair answered breezily. "I let him know I would." 

Ellison stopped dead in his tracks, creating a rather large traffic impediment. Uncaring of the myriad of people scurrying around and past them, he said quietly, "Simon should've known better; you always watch my back. Whether I need it or not." 

"That's what I'm here for, partner." Sandburg gave a cocky grin. 

"In all things, Chief--in all things." Ellison gave a wink, then put a hand in the middle of his lover's back to get the smaller man moving again. 

As the duo entered the Major Crimes bullpen, they were met by Brown. "Captain Banks wants us all in his office when you guys got back." 

Ellison shrugged, one eyebrow rising. "Best we don't keep the man waiting, then. Better collect your partner, Brown." 

Sandburg had just knocked on the captain's door and been told to enter when Rafe joined the small group. Together, the four detectives came to a halt in front of Simon's desk. 

"Ah, gentlemen," said Banks, sitting back in his chair. "Why don't you all pull up a seat and let's see if we can get anywhere on this." After everyone had settled--the three senior detectives in chairs, Sandburg perched as usual on the edge of the conference table--the big African-American captain asked, "Was there anything significant about the body or the trunk when it was found? The initial report from Homicide was rather vague." 

"Beside the body, there were the usual feminine underclothes, some skirts and blouses, a dress, things like that," replied Rafe. "Mixed up with the skeleton..." He shot an uneasy look at Ellison, but the other cop just nodded and waved him on, "...was an old .38 special." 

"So she was shot?" asked Jim, struggling to maintain a professional tone. He was gratified beyond measure when he felt a small pressure against his shoulder from a warm hand. 

"Yeah. One shot, back of the head." Brown grimaced. "She never knew what hit her, Jim. It would have been instantaneous." 

"Thank god for small favors," came low mutter from behind Ellison. 

"Yeah," agreed Banks. He cocked his head at the two investigating detectives. "Any way to trace the gun?" 

"Sorry, sir." Rafe shook his head regretfully. "The serial number was filed off." 

"I thought they had a procedure to pull those up?" put in Sandburg. "I know I heard or read about it somewhere." 

"Forensics states that test will only work on newer guns. Besides its age, this gun was also corroded by..." now it was Brown's turn to shoot a glance at Ellison, "...acids as the body decayed. They say there is no way they could raise a number." 

Jim paled slightly and grimaced, nodding. Clearing his throat, he reported levelly, "According to my dad, the last time he spoke with her, she had been staying at the Cascade Hilton and was packing for a trip to Paris. Once there, she was to meet up her current boyfriend, David Marlowe." 

That news had Banks sitting upright in his seat. "Of the big investment banking Marlowe's?" he asked incredulously. 

"One and the same," confirmed Jim to his captain's dismay. "Dad said she didn't care he was 30 years older; she liked his money." 

"Shit" burst out Rafe, then had the grace to blush when he caught Ellison's sardonic eye. "I mean..." 

"I know what you mean, Rafe," Jim decided to let the younger detective off the hook. "It means you and Brown get to grill some of Cascade's leading citizens about a twenty-seven year old murder." He gave a slight grin. "I'm sure they will be overjoyed to assist in any way they can." 

Brown's grumbled, "Thanks a bundle, Ellison," raised a small chuckle from the group. 

"Well, if that's all, you'd better get a move on it, gentlemen," said Banks with a pointed look at Brown and Rafe. 

"Yes, sir!" With commendable alacrity, the two detectives were on their feet and out the door. 

Banks turned to his two remaining detectives, eyeing the larger one concernedly. "How are you handling this, Jim?" 

"Not very well, Simon," replied Ellison, startling his captain with his honesty. "But I'm trying because I need to be in on this, need to know who did and why. That's why I'm going to ask you the same favor I asked Blair." 

"And what favor was that?" Banks arched an eyebrow at him. 

"That if I start to get out of line, mess up, you or he will call me on it. I don't want any mistakes made on this one, Simon. It's too important. I want whoever did this to go down for a long time." 

Stunned again by Ellison's evident sincerity, Banks just nodded. "You've got it, Jim." He paused for a moment to chew on the ever-present cigar. "You do realize that since it's been twenty-seven years, there's a good chance the perp is already dead." 

"I know that, Simon." Ellison dropped his eyes for a long second, then looked back up. "I just need to know." 

"All right." Banks gave a sigh and sat back in his chair. With the hand holding the cigar, he waved at his office door. "There's a case sitting on your desks. This weekend, two men committed 4 violent home invasions in the Bay Gardens suburb. Ten people were hogtied and terrorized while their homes were ransacked and robbed. Because of this, there is one 67 year old man in ICU with a major heart attack brought on by the stress, and one 23 year old girl who prematurely delivered her first child. The little girl was still-born." Simon raked over them with a fierce glare. "I want these bastards, Detectives." 

"Yes, sir," Ellison said crisply, getting to his feet. Blair at his side immediately, they left Banks' office. 

* * *

"God, what a long day!" groaned Sandburg, flinging himself down onto the sofa in the loft's living room. 

"You said it, Chief," Jim agreed wearily, opening the fridge to retrieve a couple of beers. Distracted from his quest to join his lover on the sofa by the blinking of the answering machine message light, he hit the playback button. 

Two were obvious nuisance calls--"Try this and we just know you'll want more!"--but the third had him freezing in mid-motion, beer halfway to his lips. 

"Jimmy, I'm sorry about this morning. Really." William Ellison's voice was soft and hesitant. "Blair was right; I _am_ an old fool who still hasn't learned his lesson. If you still need to speak with me about your mother's...situation...please come over. I don't know what else I can tell you, but I'll try. One other thing, your brother is flying back into town late tonight. He needs to know this, and I want you to be the one to tell him, Jimmy. Please? I'll have him call you tomorrow evening if that's all right. Well, I guess I'd better hang up now. Good-bye, Jimmy." 

As the message ended, Jim went "Hmm," and turned to face his lover who was staring at him over the back of the sofa. "An old fool, eh?" he prompted, fighting back a smile at the blush on Sandburg's expressive face. 

"That's what I said." Blair refused to back down. Eyes defiant, he watched Ellison stroll over to him, gait as graceful as a predatory cat. "And I meant every word." 

"You did, huh?" Stopping at the back of the sofa, Jim leaned down. "My hero," he breathed, brushing a butterfly kiss across the wide brow. 

Events were just starting to get interesting when a knock sounded on the door. Groaning, Jim heaved himself off the back of the sofa and hurriedly pulled his tee-shirt down out of his armpits. On the sofa, Blair was busily re-arranging disheveled clothing. 

Mumbling under his breath, Jim opened the door and stared in surprise at their visitor. "Sally! What brings you out this late in the evening?" 

"I hope it is not too late to be calling." The Ellison Chinese housekeeper smiled up at him. 

"No, no, come on in," Jim said hurriedly, ushering the tiny woman inside. 

"It's nice to see you, Sally," offered Blair, coming to his feet. "Could I get you something? Coffee? tea?" 

"No, thank you, that will not be necessary." For all that her accent was minimal, there was still a great deal of old Chinese mannerisms about Sally Li. She turned back to Jim. "Your father told me what you have discovered. Since I was on my way home from my church meeting, I thought I would stop by and see if there was any way I could assist you." 

Ellison looked down into the warm brown eyes of the woman who had been a surrogate mother to him and his brother. He found himself observing, but overlooking, the faint tell-tale wrinkles about the eyes, the gray peppered so liberally in the once dark hair. All he felt was gratitude for her continual unconditional support. "Thanks, Sally, but I'm not the officer in charge of Mom's case. I'm too close to it, you see." 

"I understand." Sally gave a slight nod. "Should I speak with someone else?" 

"Sometime over the next day or two, either Detective Brown or Detective Rafe will want to talk with you," Jim informed her. "Just tell them all you know, and answer their questions honestly. That's all you have to do." 

"Detective Brown or Detective Rafe?" There was a faint frown in her eyes as she looked back and forth between the two men. "Not Mr. Sandburg?" 

"Sorry, Sally, I'm also too close to the case," Blair told her gently. 

Understanding that the woman would have felt more comfortable speaking with someone she knew, Jim explained, "He's my work partner, besides my lover, Sally. That makes him ineligible, also." He reached out and squeezed a thin shoulder. "Don't worry; Brown and Rafe don't bite. In fact," he gave a grin, "feed them some of those famous cookies of yours, and they'll be your friends for life." 

The frown lifted from the dark eyes. "As you say, Jimmy." Sally made a move toward the door. "I should go back to your father's house, now. It is getting late, and he worries when I drive at night. Mr. Ellison actually purchased a cellular phone for me to use when I drive in case of a difficulty." 

"Good for him!" Jim grabbed his jacket as they approached the front door. "Now, I'm just going to walk you down to your car. But, I want you to call me when you get home, all right?" 

There was a slight smile on the elderly Asian face. "Your and your father, Jimmy--you are both so much alike." 

Hearing the snicker behind him, Ellison stuck out his tongue at his lover as he closed the loft door as they left. 

* * *

Exiting the elevator the next afternoon, the two men were exhausted from a day of following dead-end leads in the home invasion case. As they walked down the hall, they bumped into a coffee-carrying Brown coming out of the breakroom. Upon seeing his colleagues, he said, "Well, the Marlowe lead is a dead-end. At least for now." 

"What do you mean?" Both Ellison and Sandburg frowned at him. 

"Well, David Marlowe died about eleven years ago in a private plane crash. Of his two sons, the youngest, Richard, died in the same accident. The other one, Charles, is currently in St. Augustine's..." Brown named a famous private, and very expensive Cascade hospital, "...dying of terminal lung cancer. His doctors threw a fit when we even _suggested_ talking to him. Charles' two sons, Phillip and Robert, are now running the investment bank, but they are both currently out of town; Phillip's in Paris, and Robert's in Tokyo." 

"What about Charles' or Richard's wives?" Blair asked, grasping at straws. 

"Richard's wife died in the crash, and they had no children. Mrs. Charles was divorced over fifteen years ago and nobody knows where she is now," Brown finished gloomily. 

"Damn!" swore Jim explosively. He ran a hand over his face. "I don't suppose you guys had any luck at the Hilton?" There was not a great deal of hope in his voice, so he was surprised when Brown brightened a little. 

"Some. The doorman has been there almost 35 years. He remembers your mom, Jim." 

"He does?" Ellison exchanged a skeptical look with Sandburg. "After all this time, and all the guests he must have seen?" 

"Evidently your mom was quite a looker; not to mention, a big tipper." 

"Explains everything," mumbled Sandburg. 

Giving him a glare, Jim asked, "So what does he remember?" 

"She was at the hotel for about 2 weeks. In that time, she had lots of visitors--both male and female, all well-heeled and sporting diamonds and furs. On the day she spoke with your dad and said she was going to Paris, she had arranged with the concierge to have her luggage picked up at the hotel room. She was supposed to meet it later at the airport. About 2:00pm, the men arrived to pick up the luggage and they were let into the room by the concierge, who watched as they collected everything. Your mom was not there, but the doorman admits he doesn't remember her going out that day. The luggage--one trunk and two matching suitcases--were quickly loaded into the van and the men left." 

"I don't suppose he could remember if she had any visitors that day." It was Jim's turn to grasp at straws. 

"No one who actually asked for her by name." Brown shook his head. "Of course, someone could have just walked in, and if they knew her room, gone straight up, bypassing both the doorman and the front desk. We've faxed to the Hilton Corporate Office to see if they have a list of people who were working there in the Fall of 1973, but that's going to take a couple days." 

"So, we're back to square one." Jim slumped, defeated, against the corridor wall. 

"There's always the gun," declared Blair, running a hand through his hair. 

"Chief, remember, they can't trace..." 

Blair continued as though Jim hadn't spoken. "Damn, I _know_ I've read somewhere that there's a new procedure that deals with retrieving serial numbers from old and corroded guns." Hands on hips now, he bit his lip and then obviously came to a decision. Turning to sprint back down the hall toward the elevator, he called over his shoulder, "I'm going to the library, Jim! Won't be long!" 

Watching, bemused, as the elevator doors closed behind the determined young man, Brown and Ellison just exchanged a glance and a shrug. 

* * *

With a sharp 'thwap', a magazine landed amidst the papers on Ellison's desk. The detective looked up to find his excited partner bouncing beside him. 

"So, Chief--what's new?" Jim queried, an amused gleam in his eye. 

"This is what's new, man," Blair gestured at the magazine lying in front of his partner, "and the information in it is gonna solve your mom's case." 

Before Ellison could open his mouth to ask the obvious question, his whirlwind of a partner had yelled for Brown and Rafe, demanding they join the two of them in Simon Banks' office. Busily herding the other three before him, Sandburg had bustled them all into the captain's office, closing the door to Banks' irritated, "Damn it, Sandburg, are you _ever_ going to learn to knock first?!" 

"Sorry, Captain," Sandburg said unrepentantly, "but this is important. Remember I'd thought I'd read somewhere about a procedure that could pull up filed-off serial numbers for older guns?" 

"Yeah? So?" Banks regarded his newest detective skeptically. 

"Well, it was driving me crazy not being able to remember. So this afternoon, I spent a couple of hours at the library...guess what I found!" 

Basking in the glow of the other men's undivided attention, Blair reported, "It's some new test developed by the RCMP. A couple of years ago, a backpacker had found an old gun half-buried in the silt alongside some stream in the backwoods of British Columbia. There was a great deal of debate whether it was the missing gun from a famous bank robbery in the middle 1950's, but there didn't seem to be any way to prove it because the numbers had been destroyed. So this one forensic metallurgist developed this new test, and it worked! The RCMP lab was able to pull up the number, the Mounties traced ownership and after almost forty years, they had their bank robber." 

"Well, I'll be damned," marveled Banks, leaning forward in his chair. A sudden look of doubt came over his face. "There's a big difference though, between lying in dirt for forty years and being in close confinement with a decaying body." 

"Yeah, I know." Blair nodded vigorously, his curls flying about his face. "That's why I called up there and talked to this scientist after reading the article." 

"You did, huh?" Simon tried to smother a grin. "Why does that not surprise me? So give, Sandburg, what did the guy say?" 

"He said he still thought the test could be useful. In fact, while he could not give a one hundred percent guarantee, he still believes there is better than a sixty-six percent chance the number could be retrieved. Dr. Grimaldi said he would be happy to give it a whirl if we wanted to send him the gun." 

"Well, let's do it, then," ordered Banks. He turned his attention to Brown and Rafe. "While we're waiting to see if this lead will pan out, what's your game plan?" 

"The Hilton has promised us that list of employees by tomorrow," offered Brown. "Once we got that, we plan to start matching names on the list to names in the phone book, and go from there. Both the Marlowe boys are still out of town, and not expected back for at least another ten days." 

Simon considered the information for a moment, then nodded once. "Okay, follow through with that for now." 

"Yes, sir," responded Rafe. As one, he and Brown left the office. 

Banks scowled at the two remaining detectives. "Well, gentlemen? Are we on vacation here?" 

A faint grin on his face, Ellison ushered his smirking partner out of the office. 

Once the door had closed behind them, Jim shook his head, saying, "You're something else, Chief. The sheer amount of crap you have stuffed into your brain scares me sometimes." 

Taking the teasing in good part, Blair just bounced on his heels, eyes twinkling. "I try, man; I try." 

"Well, try adding this to the load, all right?" Ellison thrust a piece of paper at him. 

"What's this?" Squinting to read without his glasses, Blair perused the paper. 

"Exactly what it says. Serena says the lab was able to pull a clear latent print off the bottom of the occasional table from the Haldison house. They've given it to Records to see if anyone can find a match." 

"Cool." With a flick of his wrist, Blair sent the paper flying onto Ellison's desk. Reaching a hand up to one broad shoulder, he gave the larger man a subtle nudge in the direction of the door. "In case it's escaped your notice, Jim; it's almost 5:30pm. Let's get out of here before Simon realizes we haven't accomplished anything today." 

"I'm down with that," Ellison concurred with alacrity, already moving. 

A companionable silence filled the truck on the way back to the loft. Out of the blue, Ellison suddenly said, "Thanks, Chief." 

"Sure, but for what, man?" Blair queried. 

"For remembering that article; for giving Mom's case a shot in the arm." 

"There's no need to thank me for that, Jim." Sandburg shook his head. "You may not believe this, but I want her killer found just as much as you do." 

"You do, huh?" Jim aimed a quick grin at his lover. 

"Yeah, I do." Blair's answer was sober. "Or do you think I didn't notice you slept worth shit last night?" 

Grimacing, Jim apologized, "Sorry. Everytime I closed my eyes last night, I kept having the same damn nightmare." 

"Tell me about it?" 

"It's nothing much." Shrugging, Jim slowed down for a turn. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he stated, "She's just still alive when she's thrown in that damn trunk. Still alive when she's locked in and forgotten about." 

Basking in the undemanding waves of compassion flowing from the younger man, Ellison glanced over and admitted, "She may not have been much of a mother, Blair; but she was..." 

"...yours," Sandburg finished the sentence. "I know, Jim." There was complete understanding in his voice. "Brown and Rafe are going to catch who did it, man," he continued with conviction. "In the meantime, this evening, you are going to eat a decent meal, take a long, hot shower and then go to bed. Running yourself ragged with exhaustion isn't going help things." 

Recognizing the note of finality in the husky baritone, Ellison knew better than to argue. "Yes, sir!" he quipped. Truth be told, Blair's plan seemed like Nirvana to the weary cop. 

Pulling into a parking space outside their building, Ellison turned off the engine and climbed out of the truck. Waiting on the curb until Sandburg had joined him, he reached out and slid a hand under the abundant curls. Closing his hand gently around the nape of his lover's neck, he used his hold to draw the smaller man against him. A tired smile lit his face as Blair automatically slung his arm around Ellison. 

Exiting the elevator on the third floor, Blair mentally cursed as he saw the figure pacing in front of their door. 'Damn! I'd hoped to get Jim relaxed a little before he had to mess with Steven.' Keeping his traitorous thoughts to himself, though, he pasted on a smile of greeting as they approached the loft door. 

There was no answering smile on Steven Ellison's face. "Jim, is it true?" he demanded almost frantically. "What Dad said?" 

"C'mon, Steve; let's take this inside." Sighing, Jim unlocked the door and gestured his brother and lover in. 

A few feet inside the loft, the younger Ellison whirled and faced his brother.. "Jim, what Dad said... God, is it true?" 

"Depends on what Dad said." Jim mentally girded himself. His father had apologized for doubting him, but as Jim well knew, that might not last long in the Ellison household. 

"He said..." Steven stopped; taking a deep breath, he visibly pulled himself together. "Dad said Mom was found dead last Saturday; that she had been dead for years. He said...he said...I was to ask you for further explanations." 

"That's right, Steve." Taking his brother's arm, Jim led him over to the sofa and gave him a small push. Once Steven has settled, he sat down beside him. Blair went into the kitchen and began making tea. 

"What Dad told you was correct, Steven. Do you remember that time, after Mom had left, that we were supposed to go stay with her while Dad went on his business trip?" 

"Yeah, I think so." Steven frowned, trying to place the memory. "We didn't, though. She went to Paris instead, right?" 

"She never made it to Paris," Jim said quietly. "The afternoon she talked to Dad and canceled, someone shot and killed her. She's been dead for twenty-seven years." 

"But why?" demanded a bewildered Steven. "If she's been gone that long, how come no one ever found her before now?" 

Before Jim could continue, Blair placed mugs of hot, lightly scent tea in front of both brothers. When Steven just looked at it blankly, Sandburg declared, "Believe me, Steven, the way you're feeling now, that tea will help a whole lot more than alcohol ever could." 

Seeing Jim nod and take a drink of his own, Steven took a tentative sip. Murmuring in pleased surprise, he then took another, larger drink. 

As Blair retreated back to the kitchen to begin their meal, Jim calmly told his brother about Grace Ellison's death. When he had finished, Steven just sat there, pale faced, eyes wide, staring at him. 

"Oh, my god," he stammered, obviously struggling to come to grips with the information. Rational thought must have been taking a long holiday for it was several minutes later before he asked diffidently, "What about Mom? Her...body...I mean?" 

"At this point in time, it's still considered evidence in a murder case. However, I've already spoken with Dan Wolf, the coroner, and made arrangements for him to call me when he can release the body." 

"Good, good." Steven nodded jerkily. "I know Dad probably won't..." His voice trailed off for a minute before continuing, "But, I want to do something; help, I mean." 

"I know, Steve," reassured Jim. "Of course I'll tell you." 

"Thanks, Jim." Climbing to his feet, Steven stood there for a moment, then made his hesitant way toward the door. 

"Are you going to be all right?" asked Jim worriedly. 

"Yeah. I just need to...think...I guess." The younger man gave a small, but genuine smile. "In fact, I think I'll just head over to Melissa's. She's a graphics designer and a good kid. Doesn't seem to mind the business trips or canceled dates. She's forever telling me to just come on over, even if I'm just feeling bored." 

Jim smiled as he opened the loft door for his brother. "Melissa sounds like quite a lady." 

"She is." 

As the younger Ellison left, Jim said, "Steve?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Tell Melissa about Mom, okay? Don't shut her out. You have no idea how much better that kind of support will make you feel right now." 

Glancing over at Blair busily stirring a pot of soup, Steven smiled again. "You would know," he asserted, giving his brother a wink as he headed down the hallway toward the elevator. 

* * *

Upon arriving at the bullpen Friday morning, Ellison and Sandburg discovered that Records had been able to put a name and face to the fingerprints from the home invasion. They now knew they were looking for Tommy Lawson, a twenty-something loser with a police record stretching back to pre-school. After running down a list of known associates and addresses, the two detectives set themselves for a long and tiresome search. 

Tiresome seemed to be the operative word. Although, maintained an exhausted Sandburg late Saturday afternoon, fruitless could also fit the bill nicely. The continued lack of sleep, combined with their growing frustration over Lawson's whereabouts and the strain of waiting to hear back from the RCMP concerning the gun found in the trunk, was a heavy drain on both men's energy and attitude. 

To his credit, only once did Jim let his impatience and temper get the best of him. Saturday evening, Jim had cornered Rafe in the hallway outside of Major Crimes. Crowding the younger and smaller detective against the wall, Ellison had demanded what progress he and Brown had made, if any; and if none, why the hell not? 

Before Rafe could do more than break a sweat, a quiet, "Jim," put out the mounting conflagration. Flushing, Ellison had loosed his hold on Rafe's suit jacket, muttered an apology, and stomped off down the hallway. Blair had paused only long enough to ensure the other detective was all right, before heading into the break room. Thirty minutes later, when Sandburg had gone to retrieve his partner from the police gym in the basement, not a word was spoken about the incident. 

Sunday morning brought the men a bit of a break. An informant insisted that Lawson could be found bunking at his cousin's girlfriend's sister's apartment. Shaking his head over the convoluted information, Ellison had nevertheless scooped up both partner and back-up and headed over to the given address. 

As Lawson was known to be a violent felon, the two detectives already had their weapons out and ready when Sandburg briskly knocked on the door. It was opened by a fifty-shades-of-blonde female, who took one look at the pair of them and resignedly waved them toward the far bedroom. 

After all the tension of the previous few days, the capture itself was bizarrely anti-climatic. Both Lawson and his cousin--who Jim believed to be the other man at the home invasions--were still dead to the world at the crack of noon. Wrinkling his sensitive Sentinel nose against the overwhelming aroma of stale whiskey, marijuana, and several days unwashed bodies, Jim had managed to rouse the men. Ignoring the moaning and groaning of the hungover thieves, he had read them their rights while Sandburg disgustedly waved the uniforms in to take charge of the prisoners. 

Back out on the sidewalk, Jim and Blair had exchanged one long, incredulous look before climbing wearily into the truck and heading back to headquarters to start the arresting paperwork. 

Sheer physical exhaustion ensured that both men got at least six hours of sleep Sunday night. Thus, both were slightly more energetic and alert when they drifted into Major Crimes the next morning. Feeling a distinct disinclination to tackle the paperwork awaiting them, the duo diverted themselves with a much more pleasurable pastime--baiting Megan Connor, freshly back from the wilds of Colorado. For her part, Connor took the harassment in good grace, simply giving back as good, or better, than she got. Upon her arrival in the bullpen that morning, she had been grabbed by Joel Taggart and given a full briefing on the Grace Ellison incident. The rest of the bullpen merely watched the by-play in amused silence. 

"I am gratified to find all my detectives so hard at work," abruptly boomed a familiar, sarcastic voice. 

Into the flurry of purposeless movement which followed his arrival, Banks ordered, "Ellison, Sandburg, Brown, Rafe--my office." 

Shaking his head over the men who stood before his desk more like recalcitrant, mischievous schoolboys than seasoned detectives, Simon stated, "Rhonda just handed me this." He indicated the piece of paper in his hand. At the inquiring looks, he went on, "It's a fax from the RCMP." The tension in the room was suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife. Taking pity on Jim, Banks did not prolong it. "They were able to pull off a serial number. We should be able to trace the gun." 

"Yes!" hissed Blair, stabbing a victorious fist in the air. Brown and Rafe exchanged a triumphant high-five. Ellison simply closed his eyes briefly. When he re-opened them, much of the stress was gone from the handsome face. 

"I've already instructed Rhonda to send off a fax to the gun manufacturer. Now, all we can do is wait and see." He fixed Brown and Rafe with a gimlet glare. "This information does _not_ mean you don't continue following up with the Hilton employees. Perhaps we'll get lucky and come at this guy from both ways." 

"Yes, Captain," muttered a let-down Rafe. Catching his partner's eye, he jerked his head to indicate they should leave. 

"As for you two," declared Banks, "seems to me you have plenty of paperwork to keep both of you out of mischief. Jim, remember tomorrow is the day you're due in court for the Braxton trial. That means, Sandburg, that you're going to be the one to attend Lawson's preliminary hearing. I want this guy to go down for a long time, understand? So make damn sure you have all those i's dotted and t's crossed." 

"Yes, sir," chorused the two sullen voices. 

As his door closed behind them, Simon leaned back in his chair and gave a brilliant smile. "It's good to be the captain." 

* * *

Tuesday morning, Ellison and Sandburg took advantage of the opportunity for a brief cup of coffee in the breakroom before Blair headed off for Lawson's hearing. On his own way out for a conference with the Police Chief, Simon stuck his head in, announcing, "We've been able to trace that gun." Seeing he had both men's undivided attention, he said, "Last registered owner was a David Wu, with a home address in San Francisco. That name mean anything to you, Jim?" 

Frowning deeply, Ellison shook his head. "Can't say that it does, Captain." 

"Rafe sent off an inquiry to the SFPD, see if they have this Wu in their records." Pulling his head out, Banks suddenly popped back in and gave Sandburg a direct glare. "Isn't there someplace important you need to be, Detective?" 

"Yes, sir; right away, sir," grumbled the younger man, getting to his feet. 

"And wear a damn tie!" came a bellow from down the hallway. 

Grimacing, Blair headed for the breakroom door, followed by Ellison. 

"Listen, Chief, since we both drove our own cars this morning, I think I'm going to head over to my dad's after I finish at court. See if he knows anything about this Wu." 

"Sure thing, man," acknowledged Sandburg, getting onto the elevator. "See you back at the loft for supper." 

Around 5:00pm that afternoon, just as Blair was thinking he might be able to sneak out a few minutes early, Banks stuck his head out of his office and looked around. Upon seeing Blair, he gave a wide, false smile and said, "Just the man I was looking for." 

Mentally kissing his early night good-bye, Blair waited semi-patiently. 

"The Chief gave me a whole bunch of case file stats that he wants compiled by tomorrow morning." Banks noted the trapped look in the blue eyes with inner glee. "You're just the fellow who can help me finish them, aren't you, Sandburg?" 

"If you say so," mumbled Blair, reluctantly getting to his feet and trailing after the taller man. 

* * *

"Captain?" The low voice of Banks' administrative assistant broke the quiet. 

Laying down the file in his hands, Banks leaned over and hit the button on his intercom, "Yes, Rhonda?" 

"A Captain Michaels from San Francisco is on line three. He says it's in reference to David Wu." 

Glancing over at a suddenly attentive Sandburg, Banks said, "Thanks. Put him through." 

"Yes, sir." 

A few seconds later, a smooth baritone said, "Captain Banks? Jerry Michaels here. I gather you've been doing some inquiring about David Wu. My daughter works in Records down here, and when the request crossed her desk, she remembered me talking about him and called me." 

"Yes," answered the Cascade PD captain, "it's in relation to an ongoing investigation." 

"Ongoing?" The surprise was obvious in the other captain's voice. "Well, that's one for the books." 

Banks frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"Just that it seems a little strange that his name should crop up now. David Wu died 35 years ago." 

"Damn!" muttered Sandburg, slamming his pen down. 

"Huh? Who was that?" queried a startled Michaels. 

"Sorry, Captain," apologized Simon quickly, glaring at the young detective. "That was Detective Sandburg; he's one of our investigating officers on this case. Which, by the way, has just been blown wide open again." 

A short chuckle came over the intercom. "Sorry, Banks." 

Sandburg spoke up. "Um, Captain Michaels? Not that I'm impugning your information or anything, but are you..." 

"...positive that Wu is dead?" finished Michaels. He didn't sound upset. "Sorry to pop your bubble, Detective, but it's a definite fact. David Wu is dead. Even though it's been 35 years, I'm not likely to forget _that_ in a hurry. David Wu was part of the largest Homicide investigation this city has ever had." 

"Why do you say that?" asked Simon curiously. 

"It's kind of a long story, Captain. You sure you want to spend the time?" 

Banks sighed. "Put it this way, Michaels. Thanks to you, my men now have to start over from scratch. So, yes, I would love to hear it." 

Another chuckle sounded. "Pull up a chair, gentlemen, and get comfortable." A small creaking noise sounded over the intercom as Michaels obviously settled back in his own seat. "David Wu was the only son, and heir, of a major Tong family." 

"Tong?" Banks exchanged a startled glance with Sandburg. 

"Yeah. Thirty-five years ago, there were two top California Chinatown Tong families: the Wu's in San Francisco, and the Chin's in Los Angeles. Now, prior to this, the elder Wu and Chin had decided it was more profitable to settle for a compromise than to keep fighting each other, so they arranged a marriage between Wu's eldest child--his daughter--and Chin's only heir. Things were fairly smooth for two or three years." 

"What caused the explosion?" Blair questioned shrewdly. 

"A picture in the local society column--Gregory Chin at a prominent LA politician's party with a very beautiful blue-eyed blonde hanging all over him." 

"Oh, my," commented Banks, taking a sip of his coffee. 

"Exactly." Michaels gave a gusting sigh. "Naturally, James Wu was upset. After all, even if Chin were innocent of any wrongdoing, it was still a slap in his daughter's face and he wanted answers. He stopped being upset when it got back to him that this was not the first time Chin had been seen with this young lady draped about him; she wasn't even the first to do so. Wu ordered a deeper look into his son-in-law's activities." 

"I take it the results weren't pretty," said Banks. 

"Anything but. Not only was this woman Chin's mistress, she was the second one since his marriage. He didn't really try very hard to hide it. To make matters worse, it was discovered that, when he was 17, Gregory Chin had run off to Las Vegas and married some showgirl. True, his dad had hauled his butt back to LA, but it seemed the divorce decree had somehow gotten overlooked." 

"Ouch." Sandburg grimaced and shook his head. 

"You said it. When Wu was told this--well, enraged is a pretty mild word for it. You know how these old-fashioned Chinese are. Chin's activities were a severe loss of face for the entire Wu family. So, nobody was any too surprised when LAPD was called to the scene of a massacre in their Chinatown. Lawrence Chin, his wife, their daughter and son-in-law, and ten family 'retainers' were found gunned down in the Chin family home. The next morning, a worker arriving early found what was left of Gregory Chin suspended over the shark tank at Mueller's Aquarium. The sharks were looking very self-satisfied and wouldn't eat for days afterward." 

Both Banks and Sandburg looked ill at that. 

"Peter Chou, one of Chin's top lieutenants, was no fool. Less than 24 hours after the Chins' deaths, someone called in reports of shots being fired at the Wu residence here in San Francisco." Michaels gave a disgusted snort. "Shots being fired, my ass! It was World War III going down. By the time the patrol cars got there, they found twenty-seven bodies scattered in and around the mansion. Both James and David were dead, the rest were assorted Wu and Chin foot soldiers." 

Michaels continued, "The investigation just sort of dragged on and on, and eventually ended up being shelved. Everybody _knew_ what had gone down and who was responsible for what, but there was no proof, you see. Both LA and San Fran just shoved the files into 'Pending' and forgot about them. The only one to walk away completely unscathed from the whole mess was Wu's daughter, who had conveniently been in Hawaii visiting some cousins when all the shooting started." 

"Do you know what ever became of her?" asked Simon. 

"Not really. I'd heard she'd started going by her mother's maiden name and was thinking of heading up your way...Seattle, Tacoma, or some such place. All I know for sure is that Sally Li has not been seen down here in almost 30 years." 

A shocked Banks catapulted to his feet. "W-What did you say!?" His incredulous gaze sought out an abruptly pale Sandburg. 

"I said, no one's seen hide nor hair of Sally for years," answered Michaels, sounding puzzled. "Is something wrong, Banks?" 

Visibly pulling himself together, Simon shook his head as he replied, "No, nothing's wrong. Thanks for all your help. We appreciate it." The courtesy was automatic. 

"No problem." There was a click as Michaels hung up his phone. 

The silence hung heavy and thick in Banks' office for several long, pregnant minutes. 

"Oh, god, Simon," breathed Sandburg, eyes huge and dark. "What are we going to do?" 

"I don't know, Blair. I don't know." The fact that he had actually used the younger man's first name was a clear indication of Banks' inner turmoil. He ran a hand over his suddenly sweating face. "Where's Jim now?" 

"He went to ask his dad about David Wu." Sandburg gave an audible swallow. He looked at Banks out of haunted teal eyes. "This is just gonna kill him, Simon. If Sally..." Swallowing again, he rasped out, "If I have to arrest Sally Li, Jim is never going to forgive me." 

* * *

"You sure you never heard of him, Dad?" repeated Jim. "This is important." 

"I know that, Jimmy!" exclaimed the elder Ellison. Getting to his feet, William began to pace about the elegant parlor. "I just don't _know_ that man. Whatever problems Grace and I had, I wouldn't protect her murderer. If I knew anything, I'd tell you!" 

"I know," sighed Jim, rubbing his temples. He gave a sigh. "Sorry, Dad." 

A knock at the door broke the tense silence between the two men. Excusing himself, William went to answer it, calling out to Sally not to leave what she was doing. A frown settled on Jim's face as he heard his captain's and lover's voices. 

When the two other men had entered the parlor behind his father, Jim greeted them with a hesitant smile. "Hey, guys. What's with the massing of the troops?" 

Praying inwardly that Sandburg would follow his orders and keep still--if Jim or his dad exploded, Simon wanted the kid out of shrapnel range--Banks said levelly, "I just wondered if I might speak with Ms. Li." He turned his professionally bland gaze on William. "Is that all right with you, Mr. Ellison?" 

"Sure," answered the retiree bemusedly. "I don't see why not." Again stepping to the door of the parlor, he raised his voice slightly, "Sally, could you come here, please?" 

"Of course, Mr. Ellison." The prompt reply floated back faintly. "Just one moment, please, while I wash my hands." 

"I don't understand it," persisted Jim, puzzled. "What's going on? Why do you guys want to see Sally?" William appeared equally confused. 

"It's probably nothing, Jim," Banks assured him. "Just a question we think she might be able to answer." 

The bland reassurance bounced off its target. Alerted by his lover's agitated vital signs, Jim was now focusing on Sandburg. "What's the matter, Chief?" he demanded. "Has this got something to do with Mom's murder?" 

"Jim, I..." Blair's stumbling attempt at obfuscation was interrupted by the appearance of the diminutive Asian housekeeper. 

"You wished to see me, sir?" she inquired politely. Her eyes narrowed as she absorbed the obvious tension in the room, but she said nothing. 

"We were hoping you could help us with a small question, Ms. Li," Simon stated smoothly. 

"I will be honored to assist the police in any way I can." 

"Good." Taking an unobtrusive deep breath, Banks said, "Could you explain how a gun, registered to your deceased brother, came to be present inside a locked trunk with Mrs. Ellison's body?" 

Time itself seemed to shudder to a halt. 

The sudden widening of almond eyes, a virulent curse spat out in Hunan, and the world resumed its normal spin. With a speed belied by her years, Sally reached out and grabbed an ash tray off the occasional table by her side. Whirling, she caught the advancing Sandburg a glancing blow above his eye. He stumbled heavily against the table, but managed to maintain his hold on her arm so she couldn't repeat the attack. 

Shouting Sandburg's name, Simon jumped across the room and restrained Sally's other arm in one, big hand. Growling under his breath, he snapped cuffs around the wrist he held then, as Blair let go of the other arm, twisted that one behind her and locked the handcuffs into place. 

"You all right, kid?" he asked worriedly. 

Bringing his gaze back from his white-faced, frozen lover, Blair nodded wordlessly. Wincing as his skull protested the sudden movement, he ground out, "I'm fine, Captain," as he wiped at the blood trickling down the side of his face. 

"All right, then." Banks then addressed his next statement to the woman standing sullen and tense. "Sally Li, you are under arrest for the murder of Margaret Grace Ellison, assaulting a police officer, and resisting arrest." He pushed her toward Sandburg. "Take her out to my car and read her her rights. I'll be out in a minute." 

"Yes, sir," mumbled the younger man, keeping his eyes down as he led their prisoner from the room. He knew what he would see if he looked at Jim again; knew it would kill him to see the pain, betrayal and anger directed at him as he calmly arrested the woman who had been more of a mother to Jimmy Ellison than his biological one. 

Giving a mental sigh, Banks watched them go. He didn't have to be psychic to know that Blair was busily hating himself for doing his duty. Turning back to the other two men in the shell-shocked room, his grim face hid an aching heart at the look of desolate comprehension in his best detective's eyes. 

"Jim," he began quietly. He had to repeat the name twice before the younger Ellison looked at him. When he saw he had Jim's attention, Simon said quietly, "You can follow us in, if you wish. As soon as we get her processed, Brown and Rafe will be interrogating her." 

Stone mask firmly locked in place by this time, eyes hooded, the big cop gave an abbreviated nod. "Thank you, Captain," he acknowledged, voice professional and crisp. 

Aware of conflicting impulses--Simon couldn't decide if he should hug his friend to try to take away his pain, or shake him until he accepted the reality of the situation--the PD captain just gave a nod of his own. He left the room without looking back. 

* * *

Uncomfortably cognizant of the spine-snapping tension in the rigid figure standing next to him in the observation room, Simon Banks watched the questioning through the one-way glass. Waves of confused emotion seemed to flow from Ellison but, as usual, he was keeping everything locked down tight. To Banks, though, there was an even better--and more dire--barometer of the detective's mood. Not once, not since Sally Li had been arrested, had Ellison inquired after Sandburg. Indeed, it almost seemed as if Jim had forgotten about his young partner. With a sinking heart, Simon took the continued silence as proof of Blair's worst fears. 

A sardonic laugh from the tiny interrogation room caught his attention, and Banks re-focused in time to hear Brown say smoothly, "Why don't you set us straight, then?" 

Watching him through shrewd eyes for a long moment, Sally abruptly shrugged, capitulating. "All right," she agreed blandly, sinking back in the metal chair. "I am not ashamed of what I have done." 

"Not ashamed of killing Mrs. Ellison?" clarified Rafe. "Why? 

"Because she deserved it!" hissed Li. "She was an unfit mother!" She calmed herself and went on, "She ignored and neglected two, fine healthy sons...sons which are the hope and the future of any family. I watched her shameful actions for two years before she walked out on her family. She never came near her children unless it was absolutely necessary, never encouraged or guided them, never lent her support to her husband as he raised them to be good, strong men. 

"But this--this was the final deed." Sally gave another shrug. "Mr. Ellison had told the children that they were going to be staying with their mother while he was on a business trip. He told me I could take the time to go visit my cousins in Seattle. Then, she called and told him she would not take the boys, that she had decided to go to Paris and surprise her lover instead. I overheard him pleading with her, but she would not change her mind. I knew Jimmy and Stevie would be so hurt and disappointed... It wasn't right!" Li asserted vehemently. "Unless something was done, she would continue to abuse and hurt her children in this way. The boys needed to move on, as did Mr. Ellison." 

"So you killed her," stated Brown dryly. 

"I knew what hotel she was staying at; Mr. Ellison had told me as I was to drop the boys off there for their visit. I had kept the gun as a memento of my brother. I put it in my purse, told Mr. Ellison I had to run an errand, and went to her hotel. As I came up to her door, it was slightly open. I heard her on the telephone arranging for someone to collect her luggage that afternoon. 

"She was leaving town, no one would be looking for her for a long time, if ever. It was as if Fate, itself, was assisting me." Li paused, looking down at her hands, loosely clasped in her lap. Bringing her eyes back up, she met Brown's as she declared confidently, "She never heard me behind her. Afterward, I pushed her body into the trunk and locked it. I knew when no one claimed the luggage at the airport, that someone would dispose of it for me. Her purse, with all her identification, I took with me and threw it over the side at the Cascade Dam." 

Suddenly, Li's attitude changed, and she looked at the two detectives almost accusingly. "There should have been no way to trace that gun to David; he always filed off the serial numbers. Father was adamant about that. You should not have been able to trace that gun to me!" 

Brown gave a shrug of his own. "We wouldn't have been able to if Sandburg hadn't mentioned reading an article about a new test designed to read filed-off serial numbers from older guns. So, we shipped it off to the RCMP in Vancouver, and they did their thing. After that, it was only a matter of time before we followed the trail back to you." 

"Blair Sandburg!" spat out Li, face twisted and full of hatred. "That scheming, cheating 'Hun Dan'! I should have made sure that day, but he was lying so still, there was so much blood around his head, and I was afraid that someone might have heard the fall, so I left." 

Jaw dropping, Brown shot a horrified look at his partner. 

"Are you telling us," Rafe demanded coldly, looming ominously over the small woman, "that Sandburg didn't fall down those stairs 5 months ago? You pushed him?" 

"It was no more than he deserved!" Li declared sanctimoniously. "Jimmy took him in, gave him a decent home, and how does that 'Diao Ren' re-pay his kindness? He turns Jimmy into a circus freak for the newspapers! He shamed and humiliated him; made it impossible for Jimmy to do his duty... Death is the only answer for that sort of betrayal." 

Again, she shrugged. "I went to the loft purportedly to see Jimmy. Sandburg said he would escort me to my car when I left. As we reached the top of the stairs, I simply gave him a push." 

Suddenly, there was the sound of a raised voice outside the interrogation room. Before Brown or Rafe could react, the door burst open, slamming itself back against the wall. Wood chips flew from the ruined lock and jamb. Rising to her feet, Sally gave a gasp and whitened as she beheld the large figure towering silently in the doorway. Seemingly carved from marble, Ellison stood there, staring at her. Frantically, she searched the pale face for some sign of recognition, some hint of the affection she knew Jim carried for her. All she found was a promise of death from blue eyes so unwavering and frigid that the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. 

"Ellison!" barked Simon. "That's far enough! Do you hear me, Detective?!" When Jim gave no indication of comprehension, Banks went on desperately, "Do this, and you'll spend the rest of your life behind bars. Is it really worth it?" Again, no reaction; the aura of fury and deadly purpose did not lessen. 

Heart in his throat, Simon played his trump card. "Fine, go ahead and kill her! But who's going to take care of Blair if you're locked away for the rest of your natural life? Who's going to protect him?" 

For a long, agonizing eternity, there was no reaction. Then, ever so slowly, warmth and humanity eased into sky blue eyes, tempering the coldness and hatred. One last look at the woman cowering in the corner of the interrogation room, then Ellison turned and stalked away. Collapsing under the weight of the contempt and hatred in eyes that had always looked at her with love, Sally Li sank onto a chair and began to cry. 

As a breathless Banks caught up with his rapidly moving detective, Ellison whirled on him. "Where's Blair?" he demanded shakily. "I can't find him, Simon. I can't hear him." An edge of panic crept into the frantic tone. "Where's Blair?" 

Praying for strength, Banks tried to soothe the emotionally over-wrought Sentinel. "You can't hear him because he isn't here, Jim. I had Taggart take the kid to the hospital after we got back to the station." 

"Hospital?!" If possible, Ellison went even whiter. 

"Yeah, Jim--remember?" Banks prompted softly. "Li hit him with that ash tray. The cut was still bleeding pretty freely, and it looked as if it might need stitches. So I had Joel take Blair over to the ER." 

With a visible effort that was painful to watch, Ellison struggled to bring himself under control. Forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths, he said tightly, "I gotta get to the hospital, Simon." 

"Blair's not there anymore." 

Emotionally and physically exhausted, Jim had not heard the other man's approach. As Joel joined the others, he addressed his remarks to Ellison. "He's all right, Jim," the large African-American captain said quietly. There was compassion in the deep brown eyes. "The doc had to put in a couple of stitches, but that was it. Blair didn't even have a concussion, so I took him home." 

Without another word, Jim strode off down the corridor. Abruptly, he turned back. "Thanks," he said shortly. "Thanks--both of you--for looking after Blair for me." 

In another instant, he had vanished around a corner, headed for the parking garage. 

* * *

Staring out the balcony doors, fighting his growing sense of devastation, Blair was recalled to himself by a loud thump at the door. Whirling, he was in time to see Jim enter in a rush. Taking in the ashen, sweaty face and wild eyes, Sandburg thrust his own concerns and fears to the side. 

"Jim! What's..." 

He never got to finish his sentence. Almost seeming to teleport over to him, Jim grabbed him in a possessive hold, crushing the smaller man against his broad chest. 

"Blair. Oh, god. Blair." It was a groan aimed into Sandburg's tousled chestnut curls. "That fucking bitch--god damn that fucking bitch. I'm going to kill her." 

Overcoming his startlement, Blair proceeded to wrap both arms around Ellison's trim waist, and held on for dear life. 'You fool', he castigated himself dazedly. 'You _know_ how he is when he gets broadsided emotionally; how he almost zones on the turbulent emotions. Yet, all you could see were your own petty concerns and insecurities.' Blinking back tears of relief, he soothed shakily, "It's all right, Jim. Sally will pay for what she did to your mom. Let the law handle her now." 

"Oh, god, Chief, if that was only it." Ellison tightened his grip on the compact figure. "The bitch tried to kill you. That fall down the stairs? The fucking bitch pushed you--tried to kill you. She admitted to it." 

"What?!" With some difficulty, Blair extricated himself enough so he could look up into his lover's face. "Why?" Eyes dark with shock and hurt, Blair asked plaintively, "Why would she do that? What have I ever done to her?" 

He frowned as a look of shame and guilt fell across the Sentinel's chiseled face. 

"It was because of me," Jim admitted hoarsely. He forced himself to meet the stunned blue eyes. "It was just after that mess with the dissertation, remember? S-She felt you had betrayed and humiliated me by purposefully releasing it to the press." 

"Oh, man!" gasped Blair. "Jim..." 

"Don't, Chief, just _don't_." Ellison pulled the younger man back to him. "We've worked through that, all right? There's nothing more to be said; no need for further recriminations and guilt. I refuse to let that woman upset our lives any more than she has already done." 

Blair didn't answer verbally; nodding, he relaxed against the strong body and just held on fiercely. 

"God, Blair. I'm so tired." The words were accompanied by a soul-deep sigh. 

"I know, Jim; I know," Blair said gently. 

Pulling away again, he kept one arm about his lover as he steered him toward the stairs leading to their bedroom. As he slowly assisted the exhausted man up, Blair reminded himself that, while the case was finally over, he knew the repercussions would continue to echo through Jim's life for a very long time. 'We'll get through it, Jim', he silently promised his lover. 'Just like we do everything else.' 

Together. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
